Full Circle
by seastar97
Summary: Valentine's Circle: An organization full of loyal Shadowhunters- and lies. But how could Jocelyn and Luke ever love such a traitorous man? Why did Robert cheat on Maryse? What was Celine thinking when she took the angel blood that made Jace what he is? This is the inside story of the Circle told from the POVs of Jocelyn, Maryse and others. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So... yeah. I should probably explain a little bit. I was reading one of Cassandra Clare's short stories and it said that the day that Valentine married Jocelyn was the worst day of Luke's life... and I was just thinking, wow Luke really loved Jocelyn that much? Why? So then I started thinking about why, and I started thinking about their past. And at the same time, I was thinking about the whole Circle's past, especially Maryse's. I never hated her for some reason, even though she acts like a total butt in TMI... but then I read that her brother married a mundane and left the Clave, and I though, "huh. How interesting." So I decided to write a story about life before the Uprising and all that craziness! Yay.  
**

**Most chapters (there is probably going to be about 20) will be from Jocelyn or Maryse's POVs. They're the interesting ones. Sometimes I'll do one from Luke's, even less often Robert or Valentine, and sometimes someone totally random like Stephen. That's my plan right now, anyways. **

**Throw away all of your past and previous notions of Maryse because I decided to start with her! Please review and tell me if I should continue! I'd really appreciate it, I have big plans for this fic.**

**And you don't have to read all that stuff up there, it's pretty much just senseless blathering :) Just read the chapter okay? :3**

**And you might recognize the beginning dialogue if you follow Cassandra Clare's and/or Cassandra Jean's Tumblr blogs :) I'll link the post down below.**

**Oh yeah, I almost forgot:  
DISCLAIMER: I don't own this stuff... so yeah, don't sue me.**

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"Robert, did you take my stele again?" Michael Wayland asked accusatorially. He was seated on the Trueblood's sofa, rifling through his pockets with one hand and holding the other, presumably injured, out in front of him.

Robert came in from the kitchen, holding two large plates, one filled toast and the other with cookies of various shapes, sizes, and varieties. There was a glass of milk in the crook of his arm.

"No way, this is my stele," he said around the stele that was in his mouth- probably because he was prepared for his precariously arranged load to slip from his hands at any moment and harm him in some way.

"That is mine!" Michael stood up and came at Robert, his eyes narrowed.

"They match," Robert replied. "We have the same one."

Michael took a cookie from the plate and chewed it, considering for a moment. "You're right. Mine looks a newer."

"Nuh uh."

"Uh huh."

Maryse rolled her eyes. Was this what it was like to have a _parabatai_? Or did all men fight over the most obnoxious things? "Take my stele, Michael," she snapped, sliding it from her boot and tossing it onto the counter in front of her. "For angel's sake." She'd already been with the pair all morning, and she was growing tired of watching Robert eat her out of house and home, constantly transporting food from the kitchen to the couch, and listening to them blathering senselessly on. She supposed she should be growing accustomed to it by now- this was how she spent most mornings since she and Robert had gotten engaged (which was around the time Michael had taken to the Trueblood residence as if it were his own). She was beginning to realize that this was something she would never get used to.

"What do you even need it for?" Robert asked his _parabatai_, setting everything down on the coffee table, sitting down on the sofa, and putting his legs up, overturning his glass of milk. He groaned. So did Maryse.

Michael came over with a towel and the carton of milk, as if he'd known this was going to happen. He then thrust his finger in Robert's face. "Hangnail," he said.

"Really?" Maryse frowned, annoyed. "You want to put a healing rune on a _hangnail_?"

"It hurts," Michael pouted.

"I can break your finger and make that rune worth the while," Robert said, mopping up the mess and refilling his glass. When he was done, he tossed the towel aside and settled back into the couch. He bit into a piece of toast; crumbs flew everywhere, showering down into his lap and onto the couch and floor.

Maryse felt a vein pulse in her forehead as Michael laughed and mimed an explosion. She loved Robert, and Michael was like a second brother to her, but she couldn't stand them when they were together; they acted like two adult-sized toddlers.

"Watch where you get those crumbs," she snapped, fighting for her temper. "Mother will have a fit. And what is your obsession with toast anyway? I went for bread yesterday and there was none. And not to mention, there's a pound of butter in the fridge. At least use butter."

"I don't like butter, Maryse." Robert sounded petulant.

"I don't think Maryse can marry a man who hates butter," said Michael, picking up three cookies and cramming them in his mouth.

"Well, I don't _hate_ butter," Robert amended. "I'd eat a whole stick of butter, if it made Maryse happy."

"That won't be necessary." In spite of herself, Maryse felt a smile pull at the corner of her mouth as the comment tugged pleasantly at her heartstrings. He was one of the very few who could elicit smiles from her, Robert was. Though she was more often than not irritated with his boyish hijinks, and the fact that he and Michael were a package deal, it seemed almost too good to be true that she was marrying him, broken as she had once been. He was her fairytale ending.

"I'd like to see him try," Michael challenged.

"That won't be necessary either," said Maryse with finality. "I don't know about you boys, but I'm tired of standing around. Let's get out of here. Finish that toast, Rob."

He stuffed another piece in his mouth and looked at her. "Help me with the cookies?"

"If you insist." She swung her legs over the counter and walked over to the couch, climbing into Robert's lap.

"What exactly do you have planned today, dearest?" he asked, swallowing his toast.

Maryse turned her blue eyes up to Robert's brown ones. Brown was so... normal, she thought. And yet, he made it look unbelievably beautiful. She remembered thinking so the first time they had met.

"Valentine and Jocelyn invited everyone to their Lake Lyn cabin for the afternoon." She took a swig from the untouched glass of milk on the coffee table. Sour. Maybe they needed to make shopping trip, too.

"Of course they did," Michael snorted, "they do every weekend. And you two are gross."

Robert made a face at his _parabatai_ and pecked Maryse on the cheek. "Same time?" he asked.

"Same time," she replied. "But this is different. Valentine said that we had something important to discuss."

"He said this to you?" Robert asked. He had been playing with her hair, but he stopped at her words. Robert had always been the slightest bit jealous when it came to Maryse's relationship with Valentine. They were close friends- Maryse might even call them best friends- but then, Valentine had so many that she was sure someone else held that title for him. Still, she remembered him telling her countless times that she was one of his most trusted confidants; vice versa, Maryse took his advice and followed it almost implicitly.

"I'm just relaying what Jocelyn told me this time."

"Do we have to go?" Robert crossed his arm indignantly, like a child. Angel forbid any son they ever had act like his father.

"They're expecting us."

"Haven't you been missing our old buddies?" Michael asked. "Emil and Sam? How 'bout Hodge?" He gave Robert a knuckle sandwich.

He swatted back at him. "I can't get enough of them," he retorted sarcastically. He regularly referred to Emil Pangborn and Samuel Blackwell as "meatheads". Though she had grown up with both of them, Maryse couldn't help but agree. And Hodge was totally compliant to Valentine's will. He had been given the title "little groupie" by Robert.

"We're all friends," Maryse said, glaring up at Robert, "or, at least, we're supposed to be friends."

"Correction," Michael said, "we're all friends with _Valentine_. Any friendships beyond that are lucky coincidences."

"True enough," Robert agreed, and, having finished his last piece of toast, stood and spilled Maryse off his lap. "We'd better get going."

Maryse took a drink off the tea service that never actually held tea, like she did every at Saturday. She glanced at her watch. _11:17._ Jocelyn came in with a platter of finger sandwiches. Right on schedule.

Valentine was sitting next to Lucian in the corner with Anson Pangborn, who looked like he was trying and failing to carry on a conversation. Valentine looked attentively patient. There weren't many people like him, Maryse thought, who were able to see the value in everyone they met, even when others couldn't. She knew that better than most. Valentine had rescued her, picked her up when she was down. She owed him.

_She still remembered the first day she'd met him. She had been sitting in the library- alone- eating her lunch, studying for her next class. Maryse had never been much of a book person, but that had been before Max left. Now she didn't know quite what she liked or wanted._

_The school library hadn't been a particularly bad place. It was a refuge from the pity that one garnered by looking lonely- and Maryse hated being pitied, even more than she hated being lonely._

_She'd thought that things were going to be different once she started school in Idris, but it was almost two weeks into the term and things were looking grimmer every day. She didn't know how much longer she could bear being alone, feeling abandoned._

_At that moment, three boys waltzed in through the big glass doors of the library. Maryse caught herself studying them. They were all striking, most notably by their difference in appearance. One boy had brown hair, tan skin, and long legs; the other two weren't much shorter, but they bore such a sharp contrast that Maryse couldn't help but stare. One of the boys was raven-haired- she couldn't see his face well, as his head was bent and he seemed to be whispering something to the brown-haired boy, who was, in turn, whispering to the last boy, who had white-blond hair that alerted everyone to his presence like a beacon. His eyes were almost as dark as the other boy's hair._

_The blonde boy looked up as his friend finished speaking. His eyes roved the room until the landed on Maryse. She looked hastily down at her lunch, hoping it hadn't been evident that she'd been watching them. She recognized the boys now, or at least one of them. The blonde was one of the most popular in school, she had gathered. The other two were no doubt his cronies._

_She ventured a glance up. They were coming toward her. Oh God, she thought. She was irrationally terrified. How much luckier could she get? The most popular boy in school had just noticed her, Maryse the Invisible. This could be her chance._

_Brown Hair sat down in the chair beside her. "Hey," he said with a smile. Of the three, he looked the least threatening._

_"Hi," Maryse said slowly, avoiding his eyes. They searched for hers, trying to capture her in a gaze. She ended up looking down at her lap._

_"_She's pretty_," she heard Black Hair whisper to the blonde. Blonde made a noise of assent. Maryse fought off a smile. She hasn't heard anything like that in a long time._

_"I'm Michael Wayland," he said extending his hand out over Maryse's book. She shook it and looked up coyly from under her lashes at the two others, who were taking seats at the round table._

_"Valentine Morgenstern," said blonde, smiling. Black hair said nothing, taking the seat across the table from her, his head ducked. Had she imagined what he'd said a minute earlier?_

_"That's Robert," Valentine said for the other boy, "Lightwood."_

_"Nice to meet you all," Maryse said, surprised she still had it in her to exchange pleasantries. "I'm Maryse. Trueblood."_

_The boys exchanged a look. She knew what they were thinking. Surprisingly, none of them said anything along those lines._

_"You know," said Michael, "you're awfully pretty to be sitting alone."_

_"Thank you," she said, not, at that moment, able to come up with a self-deprecating comment. She looked up finally, and across the table, she met the eyes of the boy who was sitting there. She could see him clearly now. He had such beautiful brown eyes..._

_He smiled at her. She smiled back._

"How is everything going, Maryse?" said a bubbly voice at her elbow. Startled out of her reverie, Maryse looked over at the seat next to her and saw Jocelyn Morgenstern grinning from ear to ear, as she so often was.

This was different. She'd been waiting on Céline Bellefleur, who was always about twenty minutes late to these functions.

Maryse didn't know what to say for a moment. She'd been holding her place in the conversation that she'd been having with Céline for the past four weeks, keeping a question that she'd been meaning to ask fresh in her mind. She and Jocelyn were friends, but they barely spoke nowadays. What could she want?

"Everything is fine, Jocelyn, thanks for asking. How are you?"

"I'm great, thanks."

"How are things with-?"

"I know I wasn't supposed to know, but congratulations! I'm so happy for you!" She grabbed Maryse's hand, nearly spilling her drink, and gaped delightedly at what she saw there. Maryse cursed herself for not thinking of removing it before. The Lightwood family ring gleamed on her finger, the flame pattern catching the light. She and Robert had only been engaged for a short time, and they had wanted to keep it quiet for at least a little while longer.

Valentine, apparently catching his wife's movements, stood and said to the whole room, smiling, "Everyone, Robert has an announcement to make."

Robert, who was, as usual, sitting at a small coffee table playing poker with Hodge Starkweather and Stephen Herondale, looking slightly peeved (he had told Maryse once that that was his poker face), looked up in surprise. His eyes went first to Valentine, then to Maryse, whose hand was now being held up by Jocelyn, and finally to his _parabatai_, whom he gave a dirty look. Then he stood.

"Alright. As apparently some of us already know, _Valentine_... Well, we- that is, Maryse and I- are engaged. We're getting married."

The entire room erupted with cheers and from the coffee table, Robert smiled at Maryse. She felt her stomach do a flip and she smiled crookedly back at him.

"A toast!" Valentine proposed, rising from his chair and going toward the kitchen, dragging Lucian behind him.

"How did you know?" she asked, directing her attention back to Jocelyn.

"Michael," she admitted. Of course. Jocelyn, Michael, and Lucian had grown up together, and none of them could keep their mouths shut. And Robert had obviously consulted his _parabatai_ before asking his girlfriend to marry him. She figured she should have known that it was only a matter of time before word got out.

Céline Bellefleur strolled and plucked a sandwich from the tray Jocelyn had set down. "What did I miss?" she asked.

"Nothing," Jocelyn replied. "I already told your sister about the engagement and I'm assuming she told you. Oh, I'm sorry Maryse! I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's alright." Maryse sighed and flashed the ring at Céline.

"Oh, that's so nice! I couldn't believe it when I heard. Congratulations, darling!"

"Have you made any plans?" Jocelyn demanded, "For the wedding?"

"Not yet," said Maryse, feeling weary already, "but I have a feeling I'll be making a lot of them this afternoon."

Jocelyn immediately started chatting about dresses and cakes. She and Céline seemed far more interested in the details than Maryse thought she would ever be.

Valentine and Lucian reappeared momentarily with glasses and a bottle of champagne.

"Robert, if you'll do the honors." Valentine held the bottle out for Robert.

"I'll have to decline, thanks."

"Suit yourself, Mr. Groom," Lucian said, prying the cork out of the bottle with a _pop_.

Maryse went over and stood by her fiancé. He put his arm around her and hissed in her ear.

"Was it Michael?"

"Of course it was." Maryse hissed back, passing a glass down to Robert and taking one herself. "He told Jocelyn. After that, it was all over."

"That woman can put her-"

"To many happy years!" Valentine declared, cutting Robert off. He raised his glass. Maryse joined in half-heartedly, then drained her flute.

"Mazel tov," Robert muttered, downing his drink. Maryse pulled him closer to her.

"Now, I have another announcement to make. I'll keep it short, as not to overshadow Robert and Maryse." Valentine's expression had turned stern. "Some of you may know that this day marks the first anniversary of the death of my father. Regretfully, ruefully, I have to tell you all that my family has been denied recompense. The werewolf who killed my father is still, and will remain at large, for he refuses still to be held responsible to the Accords. The Clave is doing nothing about it due to his influence over the Alicante pack. I will be taking matters into my own hands, for this injustice shall not stand.

We are Shadowhunters, men of the angel- we will not be wronged by demon spawn. I only want to enlist your aid in delivering justice. Will anyone join me?"

There was a silence. Then noises of assent could be heard. Maryse felt for Valentine. She had seen his grief in this past year over his father. She harbored the same feelings as he did: Who was the Clave to let him suffer, to let a criminal roam free, to tear a brother from a sister, and piece from a family? They had no right to their power, and as far as Maryse was concerned, they abused it.

"Good. I have spoken before about the Clave's ways; I see this as an act of protest," Valentine said, his dark eyes glinting. "We'll discuss further when next we meet."

The quiet lapsed quickly into chatter about the situation at hand. Maryse looked to Robert. Before she could say anything, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Congratulations, the two of you," said Valentine.

"Thank you," Maryse said, playing with the stem of her glass.

"I remember the day you first clapped eyes on each other." One side of his mouth quirked up. "I thought I saw something there, but I confess, I never thought it would come this far."

"Neither did I," Robert said, squeezing Maryse. "I'm sorry about your father."

"It is sad," Valentine said, frowning. "Will you be coming on the hunt?"

Maryse looked to Robert again. She hasn't realized what Valentine had meant by "taking matters into his own hands".

"Hunt?" Robert narrowed his eyes.

"Yes," answered Valentine. His steady black eyes were on Maryse as he spoke the word.

She bit her lip. "We'll back you Valentine, whatever it is you want to do- but are you sure you aren't jumping the gun a little?"

Valentine considered. "What do you mean, Maryse?"

"I mean a hunt might be too drastic a measure to take at this point. Maybe a march on the Clave-"

"Maryse-"

"Has your mind already been made?" she demanded. That was the only reason Valentine ever interrupted her suggestions.

"It has."

Maryse felt her lips thin. "Alright. I won't fight you. I don't particularly like this idea, though."

"I disagree, but neither will I fight you. Congratulations again." Valentine nodded and stalked off toward where Lucian, Jocelyn, and Michael were standing.

"You," said Robert, "have some kind of power over that man."

"What?" Maryse furrowed her brow. "No I don't. What makes you say that?"

"Never, in all my years of knowing him, have I ever seen Valentine back out of a fight. You're a miracle worker." He took her face in one of his hands and pecked her lips. "You know, I'm actually kind of glad that word of our engagement got out," Robert said.

"Really?" Maryse asked. "Why is that?"

"Because if you weren't my fiancé, I couldn't do this." And he swept her off her feet, kidding her sweetly, though not, as he'd hoped, without exciting comment.

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**Aw, Robert and Maryse :) Hopefully you like it! I tried to cram a bunch of relationships between the Circle members in there. I never knew that Robert had a _parabatai, _actually. And Jace's fake-father no less! Anyways, what do you want to see more of? I plan to continue all the way up until Maryse finds that angel's body at the end of CoFA. So... yeah I guess that's all! The next chapter is probably going to be Jocelyn's POV, but I might continue with Maryse's. It gets more interesting, I promise! We get to see the workings of the Uprising, Valentine's betrayal of Luke, Isabelle and Alec and Jace being born (well, not in that much detail), Stephen leaving Amatis, and all that good stuff! Everything you ever wondered about the Circle will be answered!  
**

**PLEASE PRETTY PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE?!**

**And here's that link I promised: post/50039714564/the-young-circle-part-3-of-3-taad aa-their  
Sorry it's not letting me hyperlink it :/**

**Thanks for reading and, again, please review! :D**

**-seastar**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Yay! I'm done with this chapter finally! I have a bunch of really random thoughts, so let's get to it, shall we?**

**Firstly, I just want to say, we don't get to see happy Jocelyn in this chapter because she's fighting with her BFF and her husband. But in my mind she's funny and ditzy (in a tasteful way). She has an awfully pleasant personality, considering I never particularly cared for her in the books. And ironically, Maryse, who is the one I like, is going to be kind of meany. Oh yeah, and I also wanted to point out that Valentine has a reason to hate the Clave, Jocelyn at least has a reason to dislike them, and Luke has the same reason. And Maryse doesn't like the Clave either…. Huh. Recurring theme. Hopefully it makes sense. Everyone in Valentine's "inner" Circle dislikes the Clave almost as much as he does (maybe with a few exceptions). The people outside don't like Downworlders and are pretty much the equivalent of white supremists or the followers of Hitler, who just think they're better than everyone else. Maybe I didn't even have to explain that little hierarchy, but I'm afraid no one is going to understand. I mean, you guys aren't dumb, but I'm afraid that I'm too dumb to be able to effectively communicate the point that I'm trying to get across in the story. So yeah. That turned really long... yeah, sorry :3 anyway, you can read the chapter now! **

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own this stuff... **

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"We need milk," Jocelyn heard Maryse saying to Michael as Valentine shut the door after her.

"That's the last of them," he said, leaning on the jamb.

"You act as if you're not sad to see them go," remarked Jocelyn, picking up the tea service and heading toward the kitchen. "Besides, Lucian is still here."

Valentine caught her around the waist. "Oh, but I am." He smiled, his eyes locking with hers before he planted a kiss on her forehead, then her lips. She could sense his sadness, even as his hands roamed her body, and she could feel it pricking at her own heart. Jocelyn imagined that she and Valentine were on the same wavelength. It was like the shared the same soul; she had never loved anyone more, had never felt that anyone understood her better, except maybe Lucian.

Valentine's arms were still around her. She looked up at him. "No, you aren't. They've been keeping your mind off your father, and now they're gone. And I know exactly the distraction you'd like to move into next. But it's not happening."

He nuzzled her neck-he had to lean down so far to reach her, due to her small stature- gently pecking the skin beneath her ears. "Jocelyn," he groaned in protest.

"No way. Haven't you ever heard of mourning? Look, I even wore white today." She stepped back from him, still balancing the tea service in one hand, and nodded down at her white blouse and shoes.

"The time for mourning has passed," Valentine replied, suddenly frowning. "It is time to take action."

Jocelyn frowned in return. She had been, in part, kidding. It unnerved her, the way Valentine would so abruptly turn from sweet to serious. Nuzzling her neck one moment and the next determined to raid a den full of werewolves.

"I suppose it is." She didn't like the idea of her husband throwing himself at a pack of wolves, but she knew there was nothing in the world that would keep him from avenging his father, and it angered her that Clave would put the law above her husband's happiness. She had seen the pain he has suffered through- she wouldn't wish it on anyone. She had felt the same when the Clave had considered terminating Luke's status as a Shadowhunter, simply because he couldn't shoot as straight as the others or run as fast or as long.

"But what good is going to do for your father if you get yourself killed?" she demanded.

"My father was a man who commanded loyalty. He was a man who was _worthy_ of loyalty," Valentine said, his demeanor infuriatingly level. "What kind of son would I be if I didn't attempt to revenge his death? How could I ever demand loyalty of anyone else?"

"This isn't a matter of loyalty; it's a matter of safety! It's a matter of the law! What kind of father would want his son to intentionally put himself in harm's way?"

"My father didn't have to ask."

"Listen to me," Jocelyn commanded, her voice low with contained anger and urgency. "I'm not going to anyone—a dead man, a werewolf, _anyone_—take you from me. Do you understand?"

The stood there, the two of them, staring at each other, Valentine looking as though he couldn't believe he was having to argue with someone as small as Jocelyn was, and Jocelyn wondering how she had the courage to stand up to someone as large as Valentine was. Then something in the set of Valentine's shoulders broke, the slivers of ice in his dark eyes and he sighed, reaching out to touch her cheek.

"I do," he said simply.

"How many others are you taking with you?" she asked, resigned.

"As many as I can." Valentine's voice was stony. "Do you plan to join us, my darling?"

Jocelyn ducked her head. Valentine dropped his hand. "Be careful," was all she said before striding out of the room.

She found Lucian in the kitchen, alternately stuffing leftovers into his mouth and the refrigerator. Jocelyn sighed.

"You know, eating like that is never going to get you a girlfriend," she said, setting the tea service, which had been balanced in her hand up until this point, down with a bit more force than was necessary. Her fights with Valentine always seemed to go like this; it was like going in circles with him—they never really got anywhere, and somehow, he always managed to get his way.

Lucian paused, a piece of turkey hanging out of his mouth. "Look, just because I'm not attached right now doesn't mean I never will be. And just because you and my sister got married young doesn't mean I have to do the same."

"I'm not telling you to get married, Lucian," Jocelyn clarified, "I'm telling you to get a girlfriend." She was glad he was there: she needed someone to take her anger out on.

Lucian swallowed. "The meaningless days of hand-holding and meaningless dates? The meaningless night of whispering meaningless things in the dark? The meaningless—"

"Okay, don't you think that's a bit melodramatic?"

"Not in the slightest. I'll get married when I'm ready, Jocelyn."

Jocelyn but her lip. Not even teasing Luke was making her feel any better about the situation at hand. So she tried to remove herself from it all. She thought about Robert and Maryse, all the planning that would have to be put into their wedding, especially since they would want minimal involvement, even as the bride and groom; she thought of all the cleaning that would have to be done before they left for Fairchild Manor in Alicante; she thought about Lucian and his mournful, seemingly perpetual singledom, and she worried that he would never find anyone—it must be difficult to watch your two best friends fall in love with each other and be left on the sidelines; and she thought about Valentine, though she had been trying not to. He always been a man of action, and Jocelyn loved that about him. But it seemed there were no boundaries, that to him there was no real separation between settling a score with a friend and risking his life, and she worried.

"What's wrong?" Lucian asked. Jocelyn's train of thought was disrupted and she shook her head, removing her eyes from the garbage can, where they had been glued in her deep concentration. "I heard you and Valentine going at it. What was that about?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. "Just… are you going with Valentine? On the hunt?"

Without hesitation, Lucian nodded. "Yeah, why?"

She should have known. Lucian was essentially bound by law to go with Valentine, whether he agreed with the plan or not. "I don't think it's a good idea."

Lucian raised his eyebrows. "Why not?" he asked. "You know his reasoning."

"Of course I do. I just think there's a better way. I heard Maryse say something about a march on the Council. Is that not a safer, equally effective alternative?"

He sighed. "Did you hear Valentine's response to Maryse?" Lucian asked.

Jocelyn shook her red head.

"She asked if he had already made up his mind. And he said yes. And if Maryse can't please with him…"

"Then you can," Jocelyn begged. "You're his _parabatai, _Lucian. Make him see sense."

"And if I don't disagree with his idea?"

Tears welled up in Jocelyn's eyes. She fought them back. "You know how loathe I am to send him into battle; I don't love anyone more, and the thought of losing him— Valentine might accuse me of being selfish, and I know I am, but you understand, don't you?"

Lucian looked at her for a long moment, his eyes hard. "I'll talk to him. But you can't blame me if he isn't swayed." He exhaled. "Why don't you use your feminine charms on him?"

Jocelyn unwillingly relented and smiled at the joke. "As if he's susceptible to those."

"What man isn't?" Lucian smiled and touched her cheek reassuringly. "Don't worry about him, Joc. I'll make sure nothing happens to him. And besides, if you lose one, you'll still have the other right?"

"That's what I'm afraid of." As much as it would pain her, Jocelyn would rather lose both Luke and Valentine than pick and choose. It would be too painful for her to watch one suffer the loss of the other while trying to deal with it herself. "I mean, I think I'd go crazy without you to keep Valentine out of my hair." She smiled tightly.

"Or vice versa," Lucian agreed. "I have to go—I'm cooking for Amatis and Stephen tonight and there is next to no food in the house."

Jocelyn nodded. "Have fun," she said, watching as Luke went into the foyer and removed his coat from the rack.

"Doubtful," he called, stepping outside. Jocelyn felt the draft that the cool autumn air created. "I'll talk to Valentine the first chance I get!"

"Alright," Jocelyn said, but the door had already been shut.

Lucian gripped his grocery bags tightly in one hand and used the other to turn up the collar of his coat against the wind. He had an unpleasant feeling tugging in the pit of his stomach, like he'd forgotten something. But he'd checked all the items off his grocery shopping list, which he'd hastily assembled on the drive back from Jocelyn and Valentine's—lettuce, tomatoes, eggs, milk (Maryse had been there to pick up a carton as well, along with a vast amount of bread), juice, a bottle of wine, and a frozen lasagna.

As he passed the weapons shop that was by his apartment in town, he was reminded of the raid that his _parabatai_ was planning. He bit his lip, stopping in front of the display window. Valentine had told him next week when they had been discussing, but one always had to be ready for a change of plans where Valentine was concerned. He took a mental inventory of his equipment—and wondered if it was even really necessary. Did he really think it was a good idea to go gallivanting into a pack of wolves to avenge the wrongful death of a man whom he hadn't even really liked? Valentine's father had been the image of Valentine, though he lacked any and all of the kindness that his son had. But his will had been implacable. Would it even be possible to dissuade Valentine?

As much as Lucian would have liked to believe it, didn't think that any persuasion on his part would change Valentine's mind. Rather than taking the advice of those closest to him, his _parabatai_ tended to give ear to the more rational thinkers—Maryse and Stephen most often—and since Luke fell into the more emotional category, his opinion was often overlooked.

Jocelyn was the only exception to that rule. Valentine looked to her like a sailor might look to the sky. She was his north star. Anyone could see it, in the way he looked at her.

Of course, Lucian felt the same way as Valentine did about Jocelyn, had felt this way ever since he could remember. He knew he shouldn't, harbor have these feelings for the wife of his parabatai, but the harder he tried to suppress them, the more they seemed to bubble up, filling his heart and threatening to choke out its beating. He'd walk to the ends of the earth for Jocelyn.

It wasn't as if he begrudged Jocelyn and Valentine their happiness—quite the contrary, in fact. He loved them both like family. But even so, he found it impossible to smile, impossible to rid himself of this sickening feeling of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, whenever he saw them together.

_Why not him?_ How had Valentine swept in and stolen her heart, when Lucian had been by her side for her entire life? He often thought about it now, wondering where he had gone wrong. He'd always thought that, in time, Jocelyn would see that they were meant for each other. But things had changed when they had relocated to Idris for school.

From the moment he first laid eyes on Valentine, Lucian could tell there was something different about him. He was… strange. In his looks as well as his mannerisms. He always seemed to have a posse following him around, a group of desirables looking to him for direction. And yet, Valentine didn't seem to have any interest in popularity. He did, however, have an interest in Jocelyn Fairchild.

An interest that she did not return. She turned her nose up at him and his offers of courtship so many times that Lucian was surprised that didn't file a restraining order against him. What was even more surprising was the fact that Valentine was never discouraged. He always strolled up to Jocelyn with a smile, offering her clever compliments and flowers, regardless of that fact that she turned him down, point blank, every time. It became almost like a game, and each time Valentine would approach her, the school yard would fall virtually silent, save for some quiet snickers and the sound of bets being placed. _How many more times is he going to try? When do you think she's finally going to say yes? _

Follow his eighth or ninth attempt, Lucian saw Valentine trashing the bouquet of daisies he'd tried giving to Jocelyn. Normally he just stood by and waited for the professions of love to cease, but this time, he couldn't help meddling—it was hilarious, after all, to see Jocelyn's face afterwards, and hear all that she had to say about Valentine and his clique and where they could stick their—

"Gardenias," he said, as Valentine replaced the lid on the garbage can.

The other boy whirled around so fast that Lucian almost jumped back. His dark eyes were unsettlingly intense, the irises almost as black as the pupils, so that they blended in almost seamlessly into identical, bottomless pits.

"Sorry," said Valentine, "what?"

"Gardenias," Luke had repeated, wondering if this, coming over to talk to Valentine, had been a good idea. "They're her favorite flower. She hates daisies."

Valentine narrowed his eyes at him for a fraction of a second. "Hmm," he said. "And you know this how?" The question wasn't an unkind one—Valentine didn't look at Lucian the way most others did, with superiority and contempt due to his disability—but rather looked at him as he might an equal, an inquisitive interest in his eyes.

"She's my best friend," Lucian replied matter of factly.

Valentine nodded slowly, processing this piece of information. "Thanks," he said after moment, giving a crooked grin. "I'll see you around…?"

"Lucian," Lucian replied, surprised at the pleasantry.

"Right. See you."

The next day in gym class Valentine approached him again, bombarding him with questions as they bench-pressed and did jumping jacks. He didn't only ask about Jocelyn, but about Lucian himself. He helped him with his training as well, and from that day forward, the two were the best of friends.

Lucian shook his head, clearing it of the sixteen year old Valentine. Jeanine Bellefleur, the owner of the shop, looking at him with concern. Back then, he hadn't believed that Valentine had had even a change with Jocelyn. Five years later, he realized he couldn't have been more wrong.

As he unlocked the door of his apartment, he remembered the day that Valentine had stopped coming up to Jocelyn. That was also the day that he had stopped training with him in gym—stopped training period. He disappeared for a week and came back with red, glassy eyes.

For a while, Jocelyn was glad to be rid of the harassment, but Lucian was worried. He hadn't told her that he had struck up a friendship with Valentine, but he urged her to go find him and figure out what was wrong.

That had been his terminal mistake. As it turned out, Valentine's father had been killed by a rouge werewolf. And as it also turned out, Jocelyn had been nursing a secret crush on Valentine for the previous few months. All it had taken was the sight of him crying—in a rather unmanly fashion—and she was into him. Apparently for life. They dated for three years, and Lucian, all the while anticipating their break-up, became Valentine's _parabatai_. Almost a year ago, the two of them had married.

The wedding day wasn't something Luke liked thinking about, but here he was, popping a lasagna into his oven, doing just that. He'd been the best man at Valentine's request—how could he refuse?—and had had to refrain from spilling his guts (in more ways than one) during the ceremony.

As Stephen and Amatis walked in and Luke quickly hid the lasagna box, he wondered how so much happiness between two people could breed so much unhappiness in another.

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**And I just realized how similar Luke and Valentine's situation with Jocelyn is to Will and Jem's with Tessa. Could it have turned out any differently? I apologize if you don't know who Will and Jem are, just... go find out like now. The ending was... meh. I couldn't think of anything good. This chapter was kind of random. I couldn't think of a good way to tell Luke's story, and half-way through the beginning I realized that Jocelyn is totally boring right now! Because Valentine isn't crazy or anything. So I just decided to throw Luke in there and see how it went. Someone asked for it anyway. **

**Also, thanks for the reviews guys! You're awesome :D Just keep 'em coming, I have so many more ideas! So, I hope you like this chapter enough to read the next one! And please review!**

**Oh yeah, if anyone is willing, I kinda want someone to beta this story... or at least help me, because I was stuck for like a week on this one little part! So if anyone is bored/willing, I'd love for you to help me!**

**Thanks for reading guys! REVIEW!**

**-seastar**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys :) Well, I'm finally updating. Sorry this took so long, I got stuck on one part :( I think this chapter really sucks and it's shorter than the rest. I just wanted to get some Circle action going. So... yeah. This is another from Luke's POV. I can't figure out whether to call him Lucian or Luke, so I keep using both like alternating. Anyways, I want to make more excuses about why this is so sucky, but I can' think of any. So just read it :) and if you feel so inclined, review! **

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Growing up, Lucian had never particularly like Stephen Herondale. He had a self-entitled swagger that hung about him almost as much as Amatis did. He never would have pegged his sister at one to be taken in by any boyish charm, nor would he have ever guessed that someone like Stephen would be even remotely interested in a girl like his sister.

Nonetheless, when Lucian arrived in Idris, joining Amatis, who had come two years earlier to start her schooling, he had found her in a relationship with the Inquisitor's son. And throughout their remaining years of school, despite the doubts, in spite of the unlikelihood of it all, the two of them had stayed together.

Gradually, Luke came to see what Amatis saw in Stephen—he had been forced to, once they became brothers-in-law. Though he was not nearly as perfect as she made him out to be, Stephen clearly loved Amatis. And so did Lucian.

Now more than ever, he was glad to have Stephen by his side. He was second only to Valentine, who was, of course, Lucian's _parabatai_. But Lucian's _parabatai_ had charged into battle on the frontlines, leaving his partner to bring up the rear. Though he'd rather have Valentine's back at all times, Lucian was glad for the separation. That way if anything went wrong, the blame would land on Valentine's shoulders. He was, after all, leading the mission. A mission which Luke had not wanted to go on in the first place.

He thought back to the conversation he had had with Valentine prior to tonight. He had, as promised, sat down and tried to talk his friend out of this scheme. The discussion had gone, unfortunately, just as Lucian had expected:

Valentine had sunk tiredly into an armchair in the den. The meeting, which had just adjourned, had this week been held at Fairchild Manor. Jocelyn was bustling about, dusting and sweeping, her eyes drifting at times toward her husband and Lucian, assessing the direction in which the conversation was moving. Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild were bantering in the kitchen over wine and cards, just as they usually did.

Lucian took the seat across from Valentine, looking at him over the coffee table, but saying nothing.

Finally, Valentine shifted in his chair and said, "You said you wanted to talk Lucian, but you're only staring at me. Have you been stricken mute? Is this how you wish to tell me?"

"No," Lucian had replied, unaffected by the joke.

"Then speak."

Lucian pursed his lips. He had figured that Valentine would have deduced that this had something to do with the den raid.

"I expect that the subject of this conversation will be the den raid." So he had deduced that far. Of course he had. He was Valentine Morgenstern.

"Yes, it will be," Luke admitted.

"Well?" Valentine kicked his leg over one of the chair arms, gazing expectantly at his parabatai, his black eyes steady.

"I don't know if she told you, but your wife is a bit... Apprehensive about all this. She—and Maryse, as you know—believes that there are better, safer ways to go about this. Wouldn't you agree?"

Valentine sighed. "Is there anything Jocelyn isn't apprehensive about? Is there ever a time when Maryse isn't trying to undermine me? I want to know what _you_ think about this plan, Lucian."

Luke gritted his teeth. "I think you should answer my question."

"Fine. There are safer ways to achieve the same result, but really, what is the means to an end? Just think of how much more satisfying it will be, knowing that we've put an stop to this gross injustice ourselves, rather than coercing and bribing the Clave into doing what they ought to have done already. Do you think that's a bad idea, Lucian?"

He had to admit, it wasn't a bad idea—far from it. But Jocelyn and Maryse had their points as well.

"No," Lucian said, "I don't. And were there no danger involved, I would be behind you wholeheartedly, but—"

"We're Shadowhunters, Luke," Valentine had said, hopping out of his chair. He walked across the room and cuffed his friend on the shoulder. "We live for danger."

And he'd left the room, and that had been that. When Jocelyn had asked him how it had gone, he'd simply shrugged and watched her break down over Valentine's safety, wondering if she'd cry for his as well.

After that, the subject had been dropped totally, but Valentine had since been rather tight-lipped about the plans. Lucian wondered if he should be worried, but he knew that, once Valentine got what he wanted, things would go back to normal.

"Lucian. Lukey Boy."

"Huh?" Lucian's rumination was interrupted by Stephen, who several paces ahead of him, was stopped, looking over his shoulder.

"You alright there? You look like you pondering the meaning of life."

"'_To be or not to be_'," Lucian quoted with mock solemnity, "'_that is the question_.'"

"Just keep your head in the game, okay?" Stephen grinned at him. "Shakespeare's not going to help you in battle."

"Right," Luke said, trudging on. In front of him, could hear Michael and Robert muttering to each other. Amatis was complaining to Maryse about how Jocelyn hadn't shown up, and Maryse was in turn complaining in general—about her hair, about her nails, about Robert, about life. Beyond them was silence. On the frontline, Lucian knew, were the Pangborns, Hodge, and Blackwell. They rarely spoke. Then there was Valentine, who was silent as a cougar on the hunt, thanks to the soundless rune Luke had given him before they'd set off.

There was only a little ways to go—up ahead the dim lights of the abandoned warehouse were clearly visible. Lucian couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to be ambushed in his own home, for a misdeed that he had committed long ago. The words that Valentine had spoken to him as they had inked runes on to one another echoed through his head:

_"This wolf, the monster that killed my father, is the pack's leader. You know what that means. This makes things a bit more complicated, I'm sure you understand. There will be those who try to defend him out of loyalty or to protect the infrastructure of the pack._

_But have no mercy, Lucian. Those things may have been Nephilim once, but they now live in their own filth. They have turned against us; they kill those who were once their brothers. They deserve to die."_ **  
**

There had been something hard as steel in Valentine's voice when he spoke those words, as if even death weren't enough to satisfy this vendetta. Lucian had cringed at the sound of it, but Valentine had mistaken it for a wince of pain associated with the runes and had simply continued with his work.

Though his _parabatai_'s behavior slightly trouble Lucian, his blood still through his veins, spiked with adrenaline. Things like that were easily forgotten in the heat of battle.

The first of the group had already entered the warehouse and had disappeared from view. Valentine, Luke realized was leaning again the outside wall with his arms crossed under a gas lamp that illuminated a rusty old door. Waiting for him.

"After you, gentlemen," he said, stepping in after Stephen and shutting the creaky door behind him.

Lucian didn't know whether to be pleased—he had, truthfully, been feeling uneasy about fighting without Valentine—or angry. Valentine had been acting as general of this mission, and he had just abandoned his troops, plus he had been essentially ignoring Lucian up until this point.

Before anything could be said, Valentine began stalking away with long strides. Luke hurried after him.

Inside the den was a maze of furniture. Piles of clothes and other miscellaneous objects, things from old car parts—carburetors and steering suspensions, pistons and engines—to greasy pizza boxes covered in mold, and piles of unwashed clothes. The deeper they ventured into the warehouse, the darker it became. The industrial lights flickered on and off, and Lucian wondered how the wolves managed to pay the power bill at all.

Before they caught up to the others, Valentine whispered to Luke. "Remember what I told you, Lucian. Be merciless. You and I are going for the leader. The others are here to fend off the rest of the pack. Now, when we spot the wolf, the tall man with the red hair, I am going to…"

Valentine murmured the rest of the plan to Luke, and when he was done, he kept up his chatter. It was what they always did, and though it should have been distracting, Luke took comfort in his _parabatai_'s voice. He found all traces of his nervousness eased, found his head nodding and his lips moving to make quiet responses.

When Valentine fell silent, Lucian looked over at him; he had stopped. Stephen, close behind the pair, drew in a breath. With the aid of his night vision rune, the outlines of the wolves were clearly visible to Lucian, as were their glittering eyes. Even in human from, werewolf eyes had an eerily iridescent quality.

It took a moment for the scene to be fully absorbed by the group. Most of the pack was on the floor, either on mattresses or sleeping bags lain directly on the cold stone floor. That was understandable—Lucian was loath to think about what time it was; no doubt he should be fast asleep. A few were sitting up, staring blankly into space, massaging their muscles. There was couple rolling around on the floor in the corner.

It would seem that everyone was gathered in this one, large room. The large doors led one to suspect that this had once been a loading area for whatever had been stored in this warehouse, prior to its becoming a den. It seemed awfully convenient, this and the fact that there had been no stragglers wandering the building. It almost seemed too good to be true.

Lucian felt a hand on his shoulder. He almost jumped, before recognizing the familiar touch. Valentine pointed. There, in center of the room, lay the apparent pack leader. As if on a pedestal, he slept in a metal-framed, queen-sized bed, covered in quilts to protect against the autumn chill. He red head rested on the pillow, just visible above the blankets.

Valentine's fingers clawed into Lucian's shoulder. With his other hand, he noiselessly drew his sword, a look of hatred twisting his features. As Lucian watched, Valentine crept toward the bed. He followed suit while the other advanced slowly behind.

As he came to the foot of the bed, Valentine held up a hand. Everyone halted, watching. He circled around, stalking like a cat, until he was beside the wolf. He raised his blade…

And impaled the red-haired man in the chest. He jolted awake, back arching, an agonized howl tearing from his throat that echoed throughout the warehouse. He thrashed about as the others in the room woke; Valentine only sunk the blade in deeper.

"Who—?" the man choked. Lucian couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight, blood seeping through the coverlet, the spot darkening with each pump of the wolf's frantic heart. Around him he heard growls, murmurs, and he waited to be attacked. The clamor of weapons being drawn filled his ears, but nothing else. No one moved.

"_This_," Valentine spat, "is for my father, and all of the other Shadowhunters, your former brethren, whom you've needlessly murdered. Consider this their wrath, the wrath of the angel!" And he thrust downward.

The man screamed, jerked once, twice, three times—and was still.

Valentine took a shuddering breath. "_Ave atque vale_, you brute." He wrenched his sword from the body and turned. All the wolves of the pack were standing, staring, with a sort of disgusted reverence. After a few long moments, they raised their hands in unison, as a gesture of surrender.

Valentine bristled with surprise, wiping his sword on his gear. "Aren't you mongrels going to stand and fight?"

"None of us has been able to kill Richard," one of the werewolves, a burly female said. "We thank you, Nephilim , for doing the deed for us." She smiled a small crooked smile.

The Shadowhunters lowered their blades. "No!" cried Valentine, "this is a trick!"

"No trick, Shadowhunters," the woman said. Lucian got the feeling that this wasn't how a raid was supposed to go. "Leave us now and we will call a truce. You have rid us of our cruel leader; we will not invoke the Clave or the Accords upon you."

"As if you could," Valentine sneered, but sheathed his sword and started backing away.

In the safety of his own bed, Lucian wondered what it would be like to live that way. As they'd navigated back through the wolf den, he couldn't imagine calling it home. Did all wolves live that? Did becoming infected with the demon disease lycanthropy turn one into something entirely other than human? He thought of the pack leader, a king so depraved that he would rob families of fathers, so cruel that his own subjects stood by and watched his death and were glad of it. What a life.

_If I were a wolf_, he thought, _Angel forbid, I would be a good leader. A fair leader. _

As foul as he thought demon creatures were, he couldn't help but feel sorry for them. Whether they were Nephilim with the angel burned out of them, whether they were poor mundane souls who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, whether they were warlocks, helplessly born with the mark of the devil upon them, they were all, to some degree human. And humans felt pain. _If only the devil could be erased from this earth_.

There was no point in dwelling on thoughts like that, Lucian knew. All he could do was his part in vanquishing as many demons as he could, as his mandate instructed him to, as the angel Raziel had dispatched all Nephilim to do. All he could do was be content.

He was certainly glad that he was not Valentine tonight—he had a lot of explaining to do to Jocelyn.

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**That was a really bad ending :( But I probably faked some of you guys out (maybe?). Stephen doesn't die yet, you sillies. He didn't even leave Amatis yet. And super-obvious foreshadowing much? Don't worry, Luke, you are a very fair pack leader :)  
Ok, so I haven't decided who's POV the next chapter should be from. Any idea****s? I'm thinking Jocelyn... I want to do Maryse, but I can't think of anything for her until this whole the-Circle-is-evil ball gets rolling. **

**That's it pretty much... I am going to start the next chapter soon, but I've been a little busy. And unmotivated :/ Anyways, I'm so happy about the reviews! I wasn't expecting so many a story like this one! So keep it up guys, I really appreciate it. Please review, it will make me so happy! Thanks for reading, I'm super excited for the rest of this story :D**

**-seastar**


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